“Running, pup?” My voice is low, rough, rumbling through the steam. “That how you answer me?”
His hands slap against the tile, useless, his ribs sawing under the spray. “Cap—I—fuck, I didn’t—”
“You did.” My lips brush the shell of his ear, low, final. “Whole room heard you.”
He groans, raw and desperate, trying to twist away. My grip tightens, dragging his scalp until he arches harder, throat stretched, mouth open under the water. His lashes flutter.
“They know now,” I murmur. “They know you kneel. They know you beg. They know who you belong to.”
His groan cracks into a whimper. His thighs tremble under me, knees nearly buckling. His hands claw useless at the slick tile. “Sir—please—”
“Please what?” I snarl against his jaw, teeth grazing. “Please don’t tell them? Please don’t ruin you harder than you already ruined yourself?”
“Fuck—yes—”
My mouth drags against his skin. My grip in his hair tightens until his gasp bounces off the walls again.
“Too late.”
His breath catches, sharp, ragged, steam curling off his lips. He thrashes once under my grip, but the tile’s slick and my fist holds him like a leash.
I lean in, close enough the water runs off my jaw and down his neck. My voice cuts through it, low and lethal.
“Do you think I give a fuck they know, pup? They knew you were mine before you opened your mouth.”
The words detonate through him. His body jerks, ribs shuddering under the spray, eyes rolling back like the truth burned deeper than the steam.
“Cap—” he gasps, hoarse, broken.
I slam his chest harder into the tiles, spread hand flat between his shoulder blades, holding him there while the water cascades over his wrecked body. My other hand still twisted at his scalp, forcing his throat to arch, forcing his mouth to stay open like prayer.
“You think Vance didn’t see it when I dragged you into my SUV? You think Petrov hasn’t been waiting for you to crack since the first time you called me sir? You think any of them would dare touch you when you wear my leash this tight?”
His groan tears out raw, hips stuttering forward against the tile, forehead pressing into the spray. “Fuck—fuck, sir—”
“Too late to hide it,” I snarl into his ear, teeth grazing, lips curling against wet skin. “They already knew. You just gave them proof.”
His fingers claw at the tiles like he’ll carve grooves into the grout. His legs shake, his thighs trembling. And I hold him there, body caged, steam wrapping us both.
“I should thank you,” I rasp, my mouth hot against his jaw. “You saved me the trouble of hiding it. Now every man in that locker room knows you belong to me.”
His breath shatters. His whole body bows under my weight, water streaming down both of us, tile slick, steam heavy. His voice cracks like glass.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.”
His pulse hammers under my thumb, wild, frantic, but his eyes are locked on mine like he can’t look anywhere else. His blown wide, lashes wet with steam, mouth trembling open.
I drag my hand slow along his jaw, rough fingertips tracing the line slick with water. He shudders. My grip tilts his head until those wide eyes are forced up, until his lips part under mine like they’re waiting.
And I take them.
I kiss him—hard, final, claiming—steam curling hot around us, water cascading down our faces. His gasp breaks into me, desperate, hungry, wrecked. My hand fists at his throat, my chest crushing him into the wall, my mouth devouring every sound until his knees nearly give out.
When I finally tear back, his lips are swollen, his jaw slack, his breath ragged.
“Now get ready to go home,” I murmur. My thumb presses firm under his jaw until he swallows. “And stop hiding.”
